Leap of Faith
by Dark Scrivener
Summary: AU - Set in modern Japan. Issun left home to become a wandering artist, but now he is on the run. What trouble will be stirred up when he finds his way to quiet little Kamiki Village?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Okami_.

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

The new kid came practically bouncing through the doors of Kamiki Senior High School. Several people in the hallway turned at the unexpected sound of the doors crashing open – school hadn't even started yet, and up until then the halls had still been quiet with typical Monday morning sluggishness – but that wasn't why they _kept_ staring.

The boy wore the same standardized _gakuran_ uniform as all the other male students: same black suit, with the stylized gold buttons adorning the stiff-collared jacket. The uniform was much too big for its wearer, so the scrunched-up pant legs and overhanging sleeves made him look smaller than he was, and the fact that he wore the oversized jacket slung casually open over his white shirt did not help his diminutive appearance.

That alone would have set him apart from the other boys with their neatly buttoned, well-fitted suits, but it didn't end there. Instead of the usual black shoes or perhaps an unassuming pair of plain tennis shoes, the new kid's canvas sneakers looked as if they had been through several dozen paintball matches and come out much the worse for wear. The splotches of paint that stained them apparently came in every color of the palette _except_ white. The belt that barely seemed to hold up his suit pants was a bright green. And although his book satchel was black like everyone else's, it was covered with so many keychains that you could hardly tell.

Most noticeably, in a blatant violation of school policy he wore a reversed baseball cap over his black hair (which was also a bit too long for school policy). The hat was green with a few red spots as if someone had dripped paint on it by accident, and a black rim.

All in all, he was probably the most colorful student to set foot in Kamiki Senior High since… well, ever.

No one could remember having seen the kid before – and they were pretty sure they would remember if they had – so when he proceeded to strut confidently down the hallway like he owned the place, no one was quite sure what to make of it.

"Hey there!" he winked at some of the girls standing by their lockers as he went by, and a few of them giggled shyly, although most simply continued to stare. The boys, meanwhile, didn't look too pleased with the newcomer's attitude.

"Can anyone point me to the big man's office?" the kid asked. He spoke rapidly, but not because he was nervous; fast talking seemed natural for him. "Ya know, the principle?" he added when no one replied.

At this clarification someone hesitantly pointed toward a door at the other end of the hall. "Thanks, sweetie!" he flashed a charming grin at the girl before bouncing off energetically in the direction she had indicated. As he left a few loose papers slipped out of the end of his satchel, fluttering unnoticed to the floor.

Sakuya-sensei watched the unusual student until he left the hallway, which didn't take long at the rate he was going. This time she only flinched slightly at the unnecessarily loud sound of the door slamming. Her eyes then fell toward one of the papers he had dropped, which had landed near her feet. Her full lips curved into a frown as she picked up the drawing, glad that the . . . _suggestive_ sketch was unfinished, and she immediately began to try and snatch up the others before any of the boys got hold of them. With a deep sigh she shook her head, not thrilled with how the day was starting off. It was going to be a long year.

Little did she know just how long . . .

* * *

"What's the problem, babe?"

About two and a half hours after the first bell, Sakuya-sensei already could not believe the level of irritation – who was she kidding, of _anger_ – rising in her solely because of one student. She considered herself an exceptionally patient woman, a good teacher capable of remaining calm in almost any situation for the sake of her young charges. Too bad she had finally come across the exception. It was almost as unbelievable as the level of absolute cheekiness this new student, this Issun Boshi, could reach. The teacher felt her face redden at his latest comment, delivered in that same annoying, too-fast singsong voice as everything else that came out of his mouth–

With some effort she cut off her train of thought, composing herself to reply. "Mr. Boshi," she forced out smoothly, "I am aware that you are new here and _clearly_ unfamiliar with our practices, but from now on, you should address me – and your other teachers – as _sensei_." She had never thought she would have to explain _that_ to a high school student. "As for 'the problem' . . ." she continued, trailing off as she leaned over to look more closely at the painting on the student's desk.

This month they were studying traditional Japanese art techniques, so today the art students were practicing landscape ink painting. At least, _most_ of the students were practicing landscape ink painting. Issun was currently doodling very cartoonish-looking animals all over his sheet of rice paper. A rabbit, a mouse, and a cat trailed around the borders of the page, waiting for a fourth figure to take shape at the top, a white dog with its mouth hanging open in a silly grin. With only the front half of its body drawn, the dog looked like it was jumping out of the paper.

With Sakuya-sensei hovering over his shoulder, Issun couldn't resist a smirk at the teacher's prudish concern over his every action. It wasn't as if he were doing anything bad. He was sketching _animals_, for the gods' sakes. But Issun knew this teacher's type all too well. Show the least little sign of slacking off and you might as well paint "FAILURE" across your forehead in neon letters. It was annoying to say the least, but for some reason it just made Issun feel more mischievous than usual.

"Aw, don't get your panties in a twist!" he finally said, and was pleased to hear several students draw in sharp breaths of surprise at his display of nerve. "I got your landscape painting right here." He gestured vaguely toward the middle of his table, where indeed a finished ink painting had been partially obscured under some spare sheets of blank rice paper. With her mouth pursed in as thin a line as her very full lips could manage, Sakuya-sensei slowly reached across the table and pulled aside the blank sheets of paper very delicately, as if they were a trap waiting to snare her. The painting, now fully unveiled, was quite well done, the teacher had to admit to herself. Even though it had been made in half the time the other students were taking.

"Good enough for ya, _lady?"_ Issun said deliberately. He really couldn't help it – Sakuya-sensei had the most incredible range of angry expressions, and this was when he was only being mildly annoying. Her cheeks blossomed with the soft yet intense pink of _sakura_ blooms that spread all the way to the graceful arch of her neck; her lips red as cherries drew together in a pout, and the fine lines of her eyebrows swooped down dramatically as she narrowed her eyes. Then her gaze turned onto him and he actually felt a moment of alarm when he saw the darkness in her expression.

But his fear was forgotten an instant later when a sound reached his ears from the other side of the room that he absolutely could not ignore.

It was the sound of art – _someone else's_ art – being praised.

"_Uwaa_ – It's so . . . so beautiful!"

"_Senpai_'s art is always amazing!"

"_Senpai_ is the greatest!"

Something in Issun snapped and he practically vaulted out of his seat, leaving Sakuya-sensei standing over an empty chair with her mouth hanging open in mid-retort. Issun didn't even notice, completely torn between his curiosity and his mild indignation that these naive small-town kids were so impressed with some other student's work. Sure, the kid might have some talent, but he or she was no doubt untrained and wouldn't really know the first thing about fine art, especially in this backwater place. These people had never met someone of Issun's caliber before. Oh well – they would learn what _real_ quality looked like soon enough. He would make sure of it.

He reached the table around which several admirers were standing and blocking his view, but they nervously made room for him to look once they realized he was there. Issun leaned casually forward, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, and his eyes fell over the painting that was draped across the table like a tapestry . . .

No . . . It was more like a window into the most incredible panoramic view he had ever seen. An inkscape of mountains, waterfalls, trees, and rocks cascaded down the page, with here and there a tiny village picked out in masterfully simple brushstrokes that somehow captured all the quiet bustle and spirit of a rural town nestled among the foothills of the mountains. Just outside one of the villages, a Shinto shrine gate depicted in miniature waited to capture the first light of the rising sun. Each form flowed seamlessly into the next, as if the brush had never left the paper, creating the impression that the natural features of the landscape were in motion. Still-wet ink glittered with a vibrancy that seemed like it could not have come from the artificial light of the classroom alone. The painting . . . felt _alive_.

Issun became aware that his jaw had dropped. He closed it hoping that no one had noticed, and finally managed to tear his eyes away from the ink landscape. Almost as soon as he did so, his jaw dropped again, but once again his mind was too far gone to register it.

She was sitting quietly on the side of the table opposite him – the artist of the painting, he knew automatically. For a moment all he saw was a shock of brilliant white hair that fell down her shoulders like a veil of silk. He had never seen such a color before; even the ancient monk at the temple where he used to go for the New Year's blessing, the oldest person Issun had ever met, did not have such pure, snow-bright hair as this girl had. Returning his stare, she brushed a stray lock of shining white silk behind her ear, revealing a slim face with a slightly tapered chin and dark eyes that sparkled with something like amusement. There were curious red markings around her eyes and on her forehead, and Issun wondered if it was some strange local cosmetic fashion.

He stared, and she stared, and for the first time in his life, Issun found himself with nothing to say.

But the moment was not to last long. A half-strangled gasp cut through the silence of the room, and then: _"Boshi!"_

Oh snap. Sakuya-sensei must have found his _other_ painting underneath all the scrap papers.

Issun whirled around, and at that very moment the bell miraculously rang. He skidded across the room, a green and black blur, slowing just long enough to grab his satchel from the floor by his table and shout a quick, "Catch ya tomorrow, lady!" at his teacher as he bounced out the door into the safety of the hallway.

Sakuya-sensei seemed to have taken root beside the table. She was clutching an extremely detailed drawing of herself, with _extremely_ detailed curves and wearing a ridiculously skimpy outfit that would have gotten her fired the instant she stepped anywhere near school property, even if she wasn't _quite_ as voluptuous as the picture indicated. A beautiful line of calligraphy declared the title of the piece to be "The Valley of Sakuya's Chest." The teacher wasn't moving, except for the occasional faint tremor of the hand holding the drawing. Everyone else filed out of the classroom as quietly as possible.

About fifteen seconds after the last student had gone, the words, _"You little bug!"_ followed them out like the shriek of a vengeful spirit.

* * *

As soon as Issun burst into the hallway, he made sure to move out of view from the classroom door and then he slowed down to wait. He didn't really think about what he was doing; not that that was anything new. All he knew was that, whatever the reason, he could not just walk away from what he had just seen; something inside him would not allow it.

Finally she came out of the classroom, the flash of her white hair alerting him before he ever saw her face, and he maneuvered to fall into step beside her. Suddenly finding himself nervous, he stammered a bit as she glanced up at him with big dark eyes emphasized by those bright red markings.

"H-hey there," he said, silently cursing himself for the stutter, "the name's Issun and since I'm new here and all I was wonderin' if I could hang out with you for a bit 'til I learn my way around?" For the first time he was aware of how fast the words were spilling from his mouth, and he wondered why he was so self-aware all of a sudden; but as usual, he didn't waste much thought on it.

She smiled and the spark lit in her eyes again as she nodded. Issun felt himself grin in response. "Sweet! Always help out a fellow artist, right? Oh yeah, that painting you did – that was pretty good! I mean I kinda rushed mine so I could work on, um, other stuff . . . Hey, what class do ya have next? I dunno what I have – my schedule's in here somewhere –" He leafed through his satchel as a steady stream of words continued to pour out of him. "Okay now where'd it go? Hope I didn't drop it back there! Sheesh, that Sakuya lady's a real mother hen, ain't she? Always hangin' right over people like a freakin' tree to make sure we're 'on task,' and with a bust like that in your face I don't see how anybody ever gets anything done anyways. Is it too much to ask for a little personal space these days or what?"

As he was ranting, the white-haired girl just kept walking quietly beside him with that amused expression on her face. For some weird reason, that look gave Issun the impression that she knew more about him than he was telling her (which was practically nothing so far). . . . But that was impossible. He shrugged off the tiny nagging voice of worry in the back of his mind and tried to refocus on what he was saying. But before he could, they were interrupted.

The music of an expertly played flute was drifting into the hallway from a half-opened door which Issun and the girl were coming up next to. The lilting tune was mesmerizing, like the hollow chime of water splashing from a bamboo fountain. Issun hadn't been paying it any attention until with a last, high-pitched flurry of notes the music ended, followed by the sound of applause.

"_Merci, merci beaucoup,_ my friends! Waka, the shining light of our great Music Department, has played yet another flawless performance today! But now, I fear it is time to –"

The voice cut off mid-sentence as the speaker came out into the hallway while still half-turned to look at the people in the room behind him, which caused him to walk straight into Issun who had just come up beside the door.

"Oomph!" Thrown off-balance by the unexpected collision, Issun barely managed to avoid hitting the girl on his other side by swerving awkwardly around her, finally tripping over his own shoe and stumbling across the floor. At last his momentum wore off and he was able to regain his balance on the other side of the corridor, although his dignity would take a little longer to recover; he could hear snickers from some of the other kids nearby.

"What the heck was _that?"_ He sent a glare in the direction of whatever oaf had just crashed into him, and saw a tall, trim-figured youth with his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a peach-colored kimono jacket over his school uniform and carrying a flute.

The stranger completely ignored him and turned to the white-haired girl. "Ah, _ma chérie_, I hope you did not come to any harm on my account! Allow me to see you safely on your way . . ."

Issun felt a knot of anger coil in his stomach. The guy couldn't even apologize to him! "All right, hold it right there, you freak!" he shouted, stomping back over and attempting unsuccessfully to shove his way between the girl and the blond weirdo. "I don't know who you think you are, but _I_ was already walking with . . . uh . . . her . . ." His voice drifted into a mutter as he came to an awkward realization, which unfortunately the other kid figured out at the same time.

"Heh heh," the boy sneered. "You don't even know her name, do you? Well, I can see that you're new here . . . New kid, meet Ammy, _artiste extraordinaire_. And you've probably already heard of me, the famous Waka, musician, master of the arts, trained in Paris by my illustrious grandmother from an early age. Oh, how the _maîtres_ begged them not to send me back here and rob their music halls of such outstanding talent!" His hands flourished dramatically while he spoke, as if demonstrating the greatness of the talent they held.

"But that is in the past . . . Now tell me, _ma chérie_," he turned to Ammy again, "who is this little bug who follows you so closely today?"

Ammy merely lifted her eyebrows, as if knowing that she wouldn't have to answer. Right on cue, Issun, experiencing a fresh surge of anger, exploded.

"Hey! Who're you calling a 'bug,' you creep? My name is Issun! _Issun!_ Not 'little bug,' got it? You'd better, 'cuz if I hear you call me that again I'll make sure you regret the day you were born! I'm the wandering artist Issun and someday you will all be bowing before my great brush!" Issun felt a renewed sense of determination as he spoke, and he saw Ammy's grin grow wider, which surprised him a little. _She looks . . . impressed?_

"Ah, your friend has quite the temper, does he not?" Waka said to Ammy with a smirk. Then, suddenly, a more serious air came over him, and he looked straight at Issun with an almost dangerous gleam in his eyes.

"By the way, my little friend, did you know that I can see the future? _Oui_ . . . Here is a prophecy for you: I foresee that the needle in the haystack will not stay hidden from the serpent forever. And now, I am afraid that I must be off or I will be late for class. _Au revoir_, baby!" he directed his last words to Ammy, and looked for a moment like he wanted to say something more, but perhaps Issun's glare deterred him.

As Waka took off down the hallway, leaving a stunned Issun behind, a group of students poured out from the music room after him, all wearing the same peach-colored kimono jacket. "Wait up, Captain Waka!" they called, scurrying to catch up with their leader, who of course did not wait for them.

For a few moments Issun felt pinned to the spot, the words of Waka's so-called prophecy ringing in his ears. _The needle in the haystack_ . . . A little chill went down his spine before he shook himself out of it. What could that half-baked prophet possibly know? He pushed away the memory of the little cloth-tied bundle, forcing himself to concentrate on the present. Watching the last of Waka's followers run down the hallway, he was struck by the ridiculousness of it all.

"Does everyone in this school look like they fell from the moon or what?" he asked no one in particular. Just then, another girl he had not seen before passed by him serenely going in the opposite direction, with blond hair that seemed to shine like spun gold, and wearing a headband with a set of bright green rabbit ears that might have been carved from bamboo.

". . . Okay, _that_ was just weird," he muttered as she vanished around a corner. He felt a tug at one of his hands, and looked over to find Ammy pulling his hand as she started to walk down the hallway as well, reminding him that they were almost certainly late for class.

_Definitely_ late for class, he amended as the bell struck down any hope of making it on time.

"Aw, crud." The white-haired girl looked back at him curiously. "Look, I'm sorry I made ya late, okay? It's that flute-playing creep's fault, if he hadn't run into me this never woulda happened! I bet that idiot would walk into the broad side of a barn 'cuz he couldn't see past his own ego . . ."

Suddenly Ammy stopped and gave a short laugh – a loud, sharp, devil-may-care laugh that was almost closer to a yelp. The sound of it was so unexpected to Issun, coming from this strange, pure-seeming creature, that he could only stare at her for a moment.

"You think it's funny_?"_ he asked, tilting his head in surprise. Ammy stared back at him, her face unreadable . . . Then she shot him a huge mischievous wink, and without any other warning, took off running down the hallway, leaving Issun standing there bewildered. But he quickly recovered.

"Hey – wait for me!" He raced after her at top speed, throwing caution to the winds, and their laughter echoed all around them and disrupted every classroom they ran past.

* * *

The sun was beginning to sink behind the mountains, throwing long shadows over Kamiki Village even though the sky was still light. School had ended a couple of hours ago, to Issun's relief – although his day had gone by much faster once he started hanging around Ammy. In fact, he suspected that associating with her was the only way he had managed to avoid detention after arriving in one of his classes almost fifteen minutes late – since, from his loud entrance and barely suppressed chuckling, it had been more than obvious that his tardiness was intentional.

He was currently wandering along the side of a little-used road on the outskirts of town, munching a rice ball filled with pickled plum that he had bought from a convenience store. His pocket jangled with a few 500- and 100-yen coins, and he frowned down at it: he was beginning to run low on cash.

Of course, he would acquire more once he ran out, the same way he had for much of the past two years since leaving his home. . . . He didn't like to think of himself as a thief, and he acquired funds honestly whenever possible. He had brought some money with him when he first set out, long since depleted, and occasionally he earned small sums by selling artwork or doing odd jobs, but it just wasn't enough to live on, especially since he never stayed in one place for more than a few months.

And, he admitted with more than a little pride, he was quite skilled at picking pockets. No one had ever actually caught him – yet – although there had been one close call in Tokyo . . . And he never stole from innocents. No, all of his targets to date had had more than their share of shady dealings, which allowed Issun to appease his conscience somewhat. It also meant that he might be in for more than his fair share of trouble if he ever _were_ to be caught.

He paled just a little bit with that thought.

At any rate, he had a hunch that "appeasing his conscience" was going to be a lot more difficult in quiet little Kamiki than it had been in Nagano or Tokyo or the other big cities. Issun sighed and took a big swig from his water bottle to wash down the rice ball, hoping that it would satisfy his stomach for a while.

The shadows deepened and the hazy sky turned the soft gold of autumn gingko leaves as the evening wore on, and Issun finally made his way back toward the abandoned bus stop where he had left his few belongings that morning. It was at the foot of a tall mountain, and not too far from the shelter a wide dirt path meandered up the mountain and disappeared into the trees.

The shelter consisted of a bench that was surrounded by walls on three sides with a little roof overhead. On the back wall, an old timetable still displayed the former bus route in fading characters.

Issun knelt down in a corner behind the bench, where a loose advertisement poster hanging off the wall helped to obscure the pack he had left there. Looking inside, he found all his belongings – mostly clothes and some art supplies – untouched. Satisfied, he deposited his school satchel beside the pack and went back outside, this time walking toward the trees at the foot of the mountain.

He made his way over to a particular tree with a leafy shrub growing around its base. He hesitated for just a moment before he began to brush away a pile of loose leaves and dirt from under the shrub. Just a little ways down, his hand encountered silk. He gripped the object carefully, then pulled it out of the brush in a shower of leaves.

A glow of pride lit in Issun's chest as he held it up in the fading light. The object was a katana, its slender blade carefully wrapped in cloth. The silk-braided hilt fit Issun's grip perfectly, almost like it had been made for him, and the sword was balanced so well that he hardly noticed its weight. Best of all in Issun's opinion, at the end of the pommel someone had attached a bundle of fine bristles, exactly like a paintbrush. The tips of the white hairs were even stained black with ink.

He had never seen anything like this wonderful sword before, but already in the short time he had had it, the sword felt like it had become an important part of him – something he could never lose. _Denkomaru_, they had called it. Issun whispered the name aloud, swinging the katana a few times just to marvel at how well it suited him.

It was definitely a weapon – the incredible keenness of the blade attested to that. And yet, Issun didn't really think of it as a weapon, not primarily at least. To him, Denkomaru was a work of art, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship; and it was a tool of art, much like his high-quality calligraphy brushes.

He slipped the cloth bindings off of the blade and raised it in the air, and despite the growing twilight, the mirror-like steel gathered in what little light still seeped through the trees until the blade shone with a golden radiance, tinged with forest green. Issun grinned appreciatively at the shining sword. He slashed it through the air, and the movement seemed to paint a streak of light before it faded from his sight. With several deft, rapid strokes, Issun wrote his name in midair, and the brightly glowing character was imprinted into his vision for several moments against the dark forest backdrop.

The sword was so light and slender, it was like wielding a needle . . .

_The needle in the haystack will not stay hidden from the serpent forever_.

This time, Issun could not fight off a twinge of dread as he recalled the words of Waka's supposed prophecy. Surely that idiot couldn't possibly know what he was talking about, and yet . . . it was too close for comfort. Issun had often thought of the katana as a being like a needle; for some reason the image just seemed to fit so well.

But it was the mention of the "serpent" that set his heart pounding. The memory flashed in his mind again: a tall, intimidating figure dressed in black, an expensive pair of sunglasses concealing his eyes – but even so, Issun could _feel_ the man's gaze, feel the cold malice it contained. This was the one Issun had . . . _rescued_ Denkomaru from, right before leaving Tokyo.

The one they called "the Snake."

Issun lowered the sword and carefully rewrapped the blade, before replacing it underneath the shrub once more. He sat down beside it, leaning against the trunk of the tree. Overhead, a few stars could now be seen in the breaks through the foliage of the trees. Ever since he had left home, the stars had been the only constant throughout Issun's journey, and he loved to watch them whenever he could.

Since leaving Tokyo, however, the peace and comfort they brought him was tainted by the knowledge that those same stars hovered above the gang from Tokyo as well. Of course, as long as they continued to search for him in the big cities, they wouldn't really see the stars . . . But it could only be a matter of time before they realized his tactic. He had come to this Nowheresville, not even marked on most maps, hoping it was obscure enough to hide him for awhile; but he couldn't stay there forever, he knew. A few months, a semester at the very most, before he would have to move on again.

It was one thing to wander on a personal journey, to search for one's destiny in the wider world; it was another thing entirely to live on the run, having no choice but to keep moving, and always looking fearfully over one's shoulder. Issun honestly didn't know how long he could keep this up, even if he did manage to avoid being caught.

But there was only one person he could think of to ask for help, and he absolutely _refused_ to go there. His grandfather would only see him as even more of a failure than before. No, Issun would do this alone. Somehow.

Thoughts swirled through his head in a restless tangle as the night settled in, but eventually he became tired enough to drift into a troubled sleep, the stars winking at him overhead, gleaming coldly in his dreams like the reflection off a pair of black sunglasses . . .

* * *

_His eyes still fogged with sleep were distantly aware that it was growing lighter. The faint sound of steady drumbeats reached his ears, even as his tired brain protested these gradual signs of waking. But he wasn't truly awake – not yet. Only a slight, hazy awareness, little more than sleepwalking. His eyes fluttered half-open._

_Through the dream-haze and the early morning light, uncomfortably bright after the darkness of full night, he saw a distant figure approaching. But the figure did not come near his tree. Instead, it reached the beginning of the dirt path several yards away from him and turned to follow it up the mountain. Without knowing why – without any conscious thought at all – he rose slowly to his feet and moved to follow._

_The sound of drumbeats became louder, more insistent. He stumbled along slowly, but the other figure was moving very slowly as well, so he had no problem following. When he got just a little closer he saw that it was a girl dressed in the white and red outfit of a shrine maiden, with her hair pulled back and tied in a red ribbon._

_The path grew steeper as it meandered upward, then the great stone gateway that marked the shrine entrance came into view. The drumbeats were coming from inside one of several wooden structures beyond the gateway. He paused some distance from the entrance and watched as the shrine maiden continued her ascent._

_She passed through the stone gateway and went to the nearby water basin, where she ladled water over her hands in a cleansing ritual. Then she moved directly toward the main structure across from the shrine entrance, the place where the shrine's main _kami_ spirit was housed. He heard the shrine maiden ring the bell to summon the spirit, then she clapped her hands twice, slowly and deliberately, following the usual practice – except, some part of his mind vaguely noted, that she did not bow to the spirit . . ._

_As she stood before the wooden structure, the sun began to peek out over the horizon, setting the world aflame with its fiery glow; and in this harsh light, the shrine maiden's very distinctive white hair seemed to flare with an answering light._

_A short while later, he found himself turning back down the trail and finally slid down against his tree trunk again, his dreams now dominated by the image of the rising sun. When he at last came fully awake, it was doubtful whether Issun would remember anything at all from his early morning trek . . ._

* * *

XXXXX

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**A/N:** I swear Issun isn't on drugs. He's just having a surreal it's-way-too-early-to-be-awake moment. Not a morning person. D:

Happy birthday Eeveebeth Fejvu! *throws confetti* Actually it's not _quite_ her birthday yet, but since she will be lounging on a beach somewhere in a few days, I decided to post this a little early. Issun is her favorite character (unless he has been replaced by Death the Kid, that is) and Waka is her least-favorite character, so this story will reflect that to some extent. (Personally, I _like_ Waka, although I don't ship him with Ammy.)

Since this is a birthday fic for EF, I wrote this chapter in a bit of a hurry and I think it turned out a little more… scattered than I had intended. I'm really sorry if it seems confusing, but things should get clearer as the story progresses. There will only be a few chapters (3-4, maybe).

When I went to Japan last fall, the first thing I ate was a box of rice balls from the train station. The first rice ball that I bit into turned out to be filled with pickled plum, but I didn't know what it was at the time. All I knew was that this weird jelly stuff tasted _terrible_. So why is Issun eating it? I dunno, he probably loves the stuff.

#1 lesson learned in Japan: Japanese students are easily scandalized. (Just not always by the same things Americans are…)

Aaaand thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Okami_.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

* * *

Principal Orange sat in a tall armchair overlooking his polished wooden desk. Apparently someone thought that filling the principal's office with heavy, intimidating furniture would make the old man seem more important. In reality, it just made him look even shorter and more wrinkled than he was. He had been rambling some kind of lecture for several minutes now, but Issun was having a very hard time not being distracted by how much the principal's head actually _did_ resemble an orange, in color, shape, and even texture.

Not that Issun had ever really been trying to pay attention, of course.

". . . all you young folks seem to care about these days. Why, back in my day we didn't even _have_ video games . . ."

Issun stifled a groan. He had been handed a note directing him to go to the principal's office as soon as he walked in the door that morning, and he had _no doubt_ of who was behind it. That stuffy art teacher apparently had not forgotten his little tribute yesterday. He smirked at the memory, and his hand absently reached over to twirl a keychain on his satchel, which now contained a nearly exact replica of the confiscated sketch. Well . . . he might have made a few improvements to the new version. The valley of Sakuya's chest was perhaps a bit more luscious than before . . . Such dizzying curves . . .

"Are you listening to me, boy?"

Issun gave a start as he was jerked back to unwelcome reality. "Sure, Gramps," he muttered vaguely, hoping that he wouldn't be asked to repeat anything. But he needn't have worried.

"Bah," the old man grunted, tapping his wooden cane against the floor, "I don't know why I bother. Troublemakers like you never listen anyways. If you've told 'em once, you've told 'em a thousand times!"

The principal waved his arms dramatically with his last words, and Issun was only saved by his quick reflexes. The cane whistled through the spot in the air where the student's head had been just a second before. Issun peered up cautiously from where he had ducked, in time to see the principal settling back in his chair as if nothing had happened.

"Uh . . . Will that be all, sir?" he gulped, noting that the cane was once again leaning safely against the desk – for the moment.

"Hm?" the old man asked in a vacant tone, barely glancing at the student across from him. "Right, of course. Club meetings don't start until next week, you'll have to check the calendar. Better run along now, wouldn't want to be late to class – not that you kids seem to care much about that these days . . ."

His complaint trailed off into incoherent mumblings, and Issun took the opportunity to slip out the door before the principal could change his mind.

The hallway was empty, classes having started a good half hour ago. The boy sighed and began to slowly make his way toward History class. Now that he thought about it, Sakuya-sensei had really done him a favor by sending him to that old geezer's office. His first class was his most boring by far, and besides that, for some reason he often got a really strange feeling from History lectures . . . It made no sense, but it almost felt like _déjà vu_. He didn't like it.

He reached his classroom and shuffled lazily to his seat, in no particular hurry to take out his pen and notepad. The teacher was droning something about the story of Nagi and Nami. Two legendary figures who were supposedly connected to local history somehow. Hah. As if anything important to history ever happened in this dinky little town. The lecture was starting to give him that weird feeling again, so he promptly tuned it out.

* * *

Art class was _much_ more interesting.

This might have had something to do with his change in perspective. Sakuya-sensei had seen fit to reassign him a seat toward the back of the classroom, evidently hoping not to have to deal with him as much. Issun would probably have been annoyed by this, except that he found himself rather enjoying his new viewpoint.

Silky white hair draped down across the back of the chair in front and to the right of Issun's desk. Ammy had flashed him a smirk when he had been shown to his new seat, which he decided was either supposed to be some kind of challenge or her strange idea of being sympathetic. But then she had spent most of the class studiously facing forward, ignoring him.

So Issun had spent most of the class studying _her_. He missed most of the lesson as a result, but he was certain the art teacher could have very little, if _anything_, to say about art that he didn't already know. He had studied art all his life, and learned many things in his travels – in addition to the already considerable talent he had been born with, of course.

His time was much better spent observing Ammy's work. He still didn't know how she did it – how she managed to give her art that incredible lifelike quality, a skill that far surpassed anything Issun had ever seen before. Watching her paint, her slender fingers sweeping the brush across the page with absolute confidence, every stroke perfectly executed, was mesmerizing.

This girl had somehow acquired artistic skills that even Issun had never learned before. He had no intention of letting things stand that way for long, though. He would simply have to steal – er, _study_ her techniques for himself.

Ammy propped her left arm on the table, and suddenly Issun found his view of her painting blocked. He blew out a frustrated sigh before turning back to the painting he was supposed to be finishing. Today they were practicing natural scenery. He was just putting the finishing touches on a bamboo thicket when he noticed Sakuya-sensei making her way down the aisle.

"Good . . . No, no, you hold the brush like _this_ . . . Yes, that's right . . . Needs some work," the teacher murmured as she checked over various students' progress, offering helpful comments where needed. But when she drew level with Ammy's table, she came spluttering to a halt.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, leaning over to observe the painting more closely. "Such elegance! Such awe-inspiring detail!" Issun's left eye twitched as her voice rose in pitch. "Divine talent such as yours can only have come from the gods themselves! And to think that they would send you here, to our humble little town! Ah, truly we are blessed by your presence!"

This time, Issun didn't care that his mouth was hanging open. He was getting a really creepy vibe from Sakuya-sensei as she obsessed over Ammy's painting . . . and the weirdest part was that no one else seemed to care. A few kids turned to glance at Ammy's table with mild curiosity, mainly the admirers from yesterday, but most of the students simply carried on working as if there was nothing unusual about the scene. Issun thought he saw some of them roll their eyes.

"Geez, lady," he muttered under his breath. "Even _I'm_ not that crazy."

Sakuya-sensei's head snapped up as soon as he made the comment, and he shrank back slightly in his seat – he really hadn't meant for her to hear that. The teacher's eyes were practically glowing with fervor, or so it seemed to Issun.

She opened her mouth as if to make a retort, then apparently thought better of it. Instead she drifted over to his table, regaining her poise as she went. The almost fanatical gleam disappeared from her eyes so fast that Issun wondered if he had imagined it.

"I see there's been small progress over here," the teacher sighed, with just a hint of emphasis on the word "small."

Annoyed, Issun glanced over his work, which in his opinion was pretty good. Okay, maybe it wasn't his absolute _best_ effort, but it was a freaking bamboo thicket, what did she expect? She should be grateful he was working on this dumb assignment at all–

"And to think, I had such _tall_ hopes for you." There – this time the emphasis was unmistakable. Issun looked sharply up at his teacher. _Is she trying to make fun of me? _Her expression was carefully blank, but he caught a definite glimmer of smugness in her eyes.

_Oh, no. Bring it on, lady_.

Sakuya-sensei moved past him and continued down the aisle, clearly thinking the encounter was over. "Hey, you're right!" he announced to the general area around him. "It needs something in the background to _spice it up_ a little. Maybe a nice deep valley right there, between a couple of big, firm mounds . . ."

Sakuya-sensei nearly tripped over a desk. She whirled around with wide eyes, her mouth working soundlessly. Students watched from the corners of their eyes, careful not to face them directly. There was technically nothing wrong with his statement, and anything that she said to indicate otherwise could probably be used against her.

Issun flashed his most sickeningly innocent smile at her before turning back around in his seat. After a long moment he heard the teacher finally move off without a word, and he grinned in victory.

Meanwhile, Ammy, who had seemingly ignored the whole encounter, glanced back at him and smirked.

"_What?"_ he mouthed, but she shook her head slightly and turned back around. A few minutes later she shot him another sidelong glance, _still_ with that maddening smirk on her face, before returning to her work.

Mystified, Issun tried to maneuver in his seat so that he could see what she was doing, but he still couldn't see anything past her arm except a blank corner of her paper. For the first time it occurred to him that she might be hiding it from him on purpose. _That_ got his curiosity burning, but there wasn't much he could do about it for now. Well, other than toss paper clips at her, to which she responded by sticking out her tongue at him.

After what felt like several agonizing years, the bell finally tolled the end of class, and Issun was out of his chair and standing over Ammy's table within nanoseconds. The white-haired girl set aside her paintbrush and leaned back slightly in her chair, which Issun took as permission to snatch the painting right off the table.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but this wasn't it.

Standing boldly in the center of the page was a miniature version of what appeared to be _himself_, but wearing a green cape and purple tunic, and there were some weird antennae things on his hat. Issun was completely baffled for a moment, but then he noticed his surroundings in the picture. An enormous tree stump. Tall grass and leaves. Lots and lots of leaves.

They were bigger than he was.

"Wha– _Hey,_ you dork, I am _not_ a bug! How many times do I have to tell you people!"

* * *

The end of the school day found Ammy and Issun walking off the school grounds together. Issun, still a little annoyed over Ammy's painting, was trying to mope silently, but not talking was proving to be harder than he had thought it would be . . . especially when she showed no sign of being bothered by it.

The schoolyard emptied quickly, most students eager to escape its confines and enjoy their few hours of freedom. A few sports teams were running drills in the distance, but otherwise they were on their own.

Issun managed to brood for almost another minute before admitting defeat (if only to himself). By now the two teens had strolled to the front gate of the schoolyard, pausing where it met the streets of the surrounding neighborhood.

"So, Snowy," he began, hoping the pet name would annoy her, "what do you people do for fun in this town? Got any good arcades?" Gods, he hoped so. After experiencing the fast-paced life of the bigger cities, this backwater place seemed almost painfully dull by comparison.

Then again, "interesting" wasn't always a good thing, either.

"_Ma chérie!" _

A loud and (to Issun's ears) obnoxious voice floated across the almost empty schoolyard before Ammy had a chance to reply. Issun slowly turned to glare in the speaker's direction, already knowing who would be there. "Can't I go a day without running into this guy?" he grumbled.

When his reluctant gaze finally drifted over the guy in question, Issun nearly did a double take. The tall, blond-haired youth was dressed from head to toe in a white-and-grey outfit made of a thick, yet form-fitting material, like some kind of futuristic space suit.

"What are you, an astronaut?" he yelled across the yard. Actually, if the guy turned out to be some space freak, that would probably explain a lot.

"I see you brought your new loud-mouthed companion again," Waka continued, still addressing Ammy. He was now walking toward them with a confident swagger, which Issun thought just looked bizarre in that ridiculous space suit. But the taller teen's expression was smug. He flashed a superior smile at Issun.

"This, my little friend, is the proud uniform of the classical European art of fencing . . . not that you would know anything about that, of course. In fact, it was I who introduced the sport to this quaint little village, shortly after my return from Paris . . ."

They were spared an explanation on the introduction of high culture to Kamiki when another teen called after them from across the yard.

"Hey! Captain!" A group of boys all dressed in the same white-and-grey uniform came running out into the schoolyard from wherever Waka had come from.

Waka glanced over his shoulder at them, looking vaguely irritated. "What do you want?"

"Uh, sir, we were just wondering why you left in the middle of practice, sir!" yelled the same boy who had spoken before. Issun was both disgusted and amused by the fact that the kid actually looked pretty nervous to be addressing his leader, despite his military tone.

Waka sighed dramatically. "Can't you fools see that I'm busy? Are your skills so lacking that you can't _just this once_ finish practice without me?"

The boy looked dreadfully chastised. "N-no sir, of course not! I mean, of course we can! I mean – we won't let you down, Captain!" With that, the group of boys all rushed off to wherever they had been practicing earlier.

Waka turned back around, still looking annoyed for a moment before it faded into a lighter expression. "Heh heh . . . Where were we?" Neither teen answered him, but he was unfazed by this. "Ah yes, _magnifique!_ We were just talking about the highly refined martial art of fencing, which I took it upon myself to introduce to the local high school . . ."

"Yo, Wacko!" Issun suddenly interrupted.

The other boy lifted an eyebrow. "It's 'Waka.'"

"Whatever." Issun rolled his eyes. He was already tired of listening to this guy. "If ya don't mind, we were kinda on our way outta here . . . ya know, _away_ from school . . ." _And from extra-terrestrial sword-fighting freaks like you,_ he added mentally. Turning away, he grabbed Ammy's hand and started to lead their escape route through the school's front gate.

But of course he wouldn't be rid of the creep that easily.

"Of course!" Waka smirked as he quickly caught up to Issun and Ammy with his longer stride. "A day as nice as this one should not be wasted, eh, _ma chérie?"_ Ammy shrugged playfully, and Issun scowled.

A pensive look came over the blond teen. "Hmm . . . But our new friend here probably doesn't know this town very well . . . What do you say we show him around a bit?"

Issun shot him a skeptical glare. "Who says I needed _your_ help? Me an' Snowy here were doin' just fine on our own, thank you very much!"

"Is that so?" Waka smiled evilly. "I'm glad to hear that. As class representative, it's my job to see that new students are not, as they say, 'left out in the streets' . . . By the way, where did you say that you live again? As class representative, I'll be the one to bring you any homework assignments if you miss class."

Issun winced. What was with this guy? The _last_ thing he needed right now was for the freak to figure out he was living in a bus stop. "Eheh . . . Ya know, it's kinda hard to describe since, uh, I don't really know any street names yet . . . Hey, how about I just pick up my homework at school if I miss? Or better yet, let's just pretend I never miss class! Yeah, I like that one."

"_Au contraire,_ my friend! I'm afraid I cannot do that, for if you miss an assignment, it is Waka, chosen by unanimous vote to be the great leader and most outstanding member of our class, who will suffer the black mark of scorn for not fulfilling his duty."

_Huh_ . . . Issun made a mental note to be sure and miss a lot of homework assignments while he was in Kamiki.

"_Voilà!_ A brilliant idea has come to me! How about I accompany you two on your walk? That way you can just show me where you live." The deceptively pleasant expression on Waka's face dared Issun to refuse. Issun would have been more than happy to turn him down flat out, but somehow he sensed that that would be a bad idea. The jerkface was smarter than he looked, and it would be suspicious if Issun acted too secretive about where he lived in a town as small as Kamiki. He would have to find a way to throw the creep off-track somehow.

"Er, well, actually we weren't going _straight_ home . . . Ya know, wanted to see the town and stuff first, maybe . . ." he trailed off lamely.

"_Magnifique!" _Waka exclaimed with typical flair, immediately moving to the front of the group. "Ammy and I can give you the grand tour! Right, _ma chérie?"_

Ammy's devilish grin spread until it rivaled Waka's, and she actually skipped ahead to join him, rather like a mischievous puppy. Issun was sure he could feel the evil vibes coming off the two of them. He slapped a hand to his forehead. This day just kept getting better. . . .

* * *

". . . And over there is Mrs. Orange's garden – be nice to her, she makes the best cherry cakes in the world . . ."

Issun suppressed another groan. He had to have seen every garden, convenience store, and rice paddy in town by now. And they had spent almost twenty minutes just looking at some gods-forsaken statue of a wolf! Apparently there was some crazy local myth about it. In all fairness, Issun probably would have found it a lot more interesting if he hadn't been forced to listen to its life history being narrated by the gods' gift to mankind.

And he was pretty sure that Ammy was fully aware of and enjoying every moment of his torture. _Traitor_.

Bored, he ignored the still-rambling Waka and glanced around the rest of the street. Off to one side was a large building surrounded by a high, sprawling fence and a lot of ornamental shrubs. An onsen, by the looks of it. Issun would have ignored it and moved on, but just as he was turning away, he caught sight of something unexpected.

A short stepladder was propped against one section of the fence . . . and on the stepladder was a large man in a police uniform standing on his tiptoes, apparently struggling (without much success) to see over the top of the fence – he was _just barely_ too short, and now he was in the process of trying to jump high enough to peek over it. He seemed completely oblivious to the trio of teens in the street behind him.

Issun grinned.

Moving over until he was just a couple yards away from the man, Issun suddenly yelled, "Hey, mister!"

Midway through his next jump, the man screamed and fell backwards off the stepladder. Issun backed away quickly, but didn't quite manage to erase the smirk.

"What the – Hey, what's going on here?" The man stood up, dusting himself off indignantly. "I'm Susano, officer of the law. What do you no-good hooligans think you're up to?"

"Really? You're a police officer?" Issun said brightly, ignoring the question. "So what exactly were ya doin' on that stepladder?"

The man's face colored deep red. "Uh . . . That is, I, um . . ."

"Trying to spy on Kushi, no doubt," Waka called over, finally deciding to notice the situation.

Susano's face got even redder, if that was possible. "What? No, of course not! I was, uh, just making sure the area was safe from troublemakers. Yeah, that's right! Fulfilling my duty to Ku – uh, to protect this town. Besides," he continued to himself in a mumble, "it's not like I could see anything past that stupid screen . . ."

"Sure, pops, whatever you say," Issun muttered, walking back over to where Ammy was standing. The comment snapped Susano's focus back onto the teens.

"And where do you think you're going? No one walks away from Susano the Enforcer and gets away with it! What business do you hoodlums have in my town, anyways? Looking to cause trouble, no doubt! Well, I won't stand for it. I will smite any foe foolish enough to go up against the great warrior Susano!"

Waka smiled disarmingly. "Don't worry, _monsieur_, we don't want any trouble here. Although now that you mention it, I did hear about some suspicious-looking street toughs down in the Nakazora neighborhood that you might want to check out . . ."

Susano seemed to deflate instantly. "Did you say street t-toughs? Er, I mean, yeah, haha, I'll get right on that . . . Better head back to base for some warm-ups first though . . . Ahahaha . . ." Still chuckling nervously and mumbling to himself, the strange man started off down the road in the direction the teens had just come from, the stepladder apparently forgotten.

"Huh. That was easy," said Issun, too distracted to realize that he had just indirectly complimented Waka. "He doesn't exactly look like he could handle a group of street toughs if they handcuffed themselves and turned themselves in, does he?" Ammy laughed next to him.

The teens started walking again. The sun was setting by now, and Issun found himself discreetly admiring the way its soft orange glow gave Ammy's hair a fiery sheen that for some reason looked vaguely familiar to him, although he couldn't figure out why.

"Ahem . . . Well, it's getting a bit late, don't you think, my friends?" Waka finally interrupted after they had been walking quietly for some time. Issun realized with alarm that they were getting very close to the old bus stop that currently served as his shelter. Just down the road he could already see the tree-lined mountainside where he had slept the night before. "Perhaps now would be a good time to go by your house, and then I'll be on my way . . . ?"

"No!" Issun shouted before he could stop himself. "Uh . . . I mean, we should drop Ammy off first, at least!" _And then I can find a way to ditch you before this goes on any longer,_ he thought hopefully.

Waka shot him a sidelong glance, waiting a moment before he spoke. "You know, little friend, if I didn't know any better, I'd almost have to think you were trying to hide something."

"W-what?" The word nearly came out as a yelp. Issun silently cursed his verbal stumble. "Where did ya get that idea?"

Waka laughed. "Heh heh. Well, for one thing, correct me if I am wrong, but that last sentence of yours came out a bit unnaturally high-pitched, yes?"

"Guess what, Sherlock, it's called puberty!" Issun snapped. He felt oddly triumphant at the look of disdain that flashed across Waka's features. Then he flushed a bit when he remembered Ammy was still right beside him. _Oh well . . . He can't argue with _that,_ anyways_.

Waka opened his mouth to retort, but Issun was spared having to hear it when a call interrupted them.

"Oi! Ammy, is that you?" the new voice called. Turning toward its source, Issun spotted a robed figure coming toward them from further down the road. Ammy waved in greeting, and the figure waved back.

Waka, on the other hand, suddenly tensed. "You know, _ma chérie,_ it really is getting late. I'm afraid I must be going now." With that, he took off back down the street in the direction they had come from, his parting shout of _"Au revoir,_ baby!" left hanging in the air behind him.

Issun was left blinking in confusion.

"Uh, Snowy, what just happened?" But to his further surprise, he saw that Ammy was no longer beside him. Instead, she was half-jogging toward the brown-robed figure, who Issun now saw appeared to be a monk.

"Okay . . . So what am I supposed to do now?" he wondered aloud, even though no one was in hearing range anymore. Despite this, Ammy turned around and started motioning for him to come over, so with a shrug, he did just that.

"Ah, hello there!" the monk said amiably when he was close enough. "You must be new around here! Nice to meet you." He gave a slight bow.

"Yeah, uh, sure, nice to meet you too, mister . . ." Issun trailed off, glancing at Ammy. The monk laughed.

"Ah ha ha! I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Komuso, caretaker of the temple you'll see across the street there."

Issun peered toward the side of the street opposite where his bus stop shelter would be, and sure enough he saw the curving, tiled roof of a small Buddhist temple nestled among the trees. When he turned back to Komuso and Ammy, he found the monk giving him a curious look.

"You know, lad," Komuso began slowly, "this is a pretty small village, but it's a peaceful place to live thanks to the spirits that watch over it. But you . . . I sense that a great darkness follows you, outside but also within. Are you . . . are you running from something, by any chance?"

Whoa. Issun took a half-step back before he could stop himself. This was definitely cutting too close for comfort. And yet . . . Issun realized that he did not feel the same sort of mistrust for this man as he did for Waka, somehow. At least the monk seemed genuinely concerned, whereas that half-baked prophet just seemed to enjoy making his life more miserable. "Haha, er . . . What makes ya say that?" he asked innocently.

The monk shrugged with a knowing smile. "Hm . . . Just intuition, I suppose. The path of Buddha is a path of understanding, after all." He cleared his throat. "Anyways, it's getting chilly standing about out here. How about a cup of tea? You kids look hungry. Unless you have somewhere you need to get back to . . .?"

The last comment was directed at Issun, who suddenly realized that he had hardly had anything to eat all day. So he quickly accepted, even as Ammy began running off toward the temple.

"Great! In that case, Ammy, could you show Issun to the visitors' room while I get us some tea?"

Issun was just stepping through the front entrance to the temple when it hit him. He froze in mid-step. _How does he know my name . . . ?_

* * *

XXXXX

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**A/N:** I'm very sorry for the epically long wait for this chapter. I'm a slow writer and this chapter was particularly hard for some reason. Anyway, hope you enjoy it! It's not my favorite chappie, but it's FINISHED and that makes me very happy. :D

Thanks everybody who reviewed the first chapter! Especially **Jynxed Keyboard **- I totally had not thought of making Waka a sports captain until your review. Well, this may not have been quite what you had in mind, either... ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Okami_. This story is rated "I" for copious amounts of Issun, btw.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

* * *

-SIX MONTHS EARLIER-

The phrase "concrete jungle" fit Tokyo like a glove. Wherever Issun turned, concrete, steel, and stone filled his vision, glittering with neon lights and stretching all the way up to the sky far above.

A completely different world from his home village. Towering pines instead of skyscrapers, wide green fields, a few small houses, a blue sky so vast it felt like you could reach out and touch it . . .

He took a deep breath, trying to force his thoughts away from what he had left behind. Deep down, he would always miss it. Nowhere else was like the quiet beauty of that little village far to the north. That awesome natural beauty was what had first drawn him to painting. It was amazing to think someone like himself could actually capture the essence of the landscape using just paper and ink.

Then the old man had stepped in, and painting quickly became worse than a chore for Issun. His hands curled into fists until he forced himself to take another deep breath and relax. _I'll show that old dinosaur. I _will _be the greatest artist he's ever seen, and I'll do it without his help!_

But first, the growling in his stomach reminded him there were other things to take care of.

He strolled down a not-too-busy street, keeping an eye out for his next target. That was one of the nice things about Tokyo: there were so many people crowded together that they were practically begging to have their pockets picked. It was like Christmas came everyday here.

A little ways down the street, he noticed a sleek, shiny black car pull up next to the sidewalk. Three men wearing expensive-looking black suits got out and stood back a little as one of them held the door open for a fourth man, this one wearing a pair of sunglasses. Then the door was slammed shut and the car drove off.

Issun would have paid them little mind – it was near rush hour, and the streets were starting to fill with black-suited businessmen and students all around the city. But he noticed tattoos peeking out past the sleeves of the first three men who had gotten out of the car, and that was _not_ normal, at least for businessmen.

And the fourth man . . . He had no visible tattoos, but he was carrying a long, narrow object wrapped in cloth, holding it in both hands as if it were fragile. He was clearly the leader of the group, from the way the others seemed to defer to him.

Issun wasn't stupid. These men were wearing _very_ expensive clothes and had tattoos. They moved with a sort of confident swagger that showed they were used to being the center of attention. His gut told him they were bad news.

. . . Not to mention probably filthy rich.

With only a little hesitation, he made his decision. They obviously had money. They had most likely gotten that money through illicit means. They were almost certainly dangerous. And they seemed entirely too self-sure to be bothered if they even noticed some scrawny teenager following them down the street.

Issun was feeling ready for a challenge.

He would at least follow them and see where it led. Admittedly he was more than a little curious about whatever that bundle was that sunglasses guy was carrying. He wouldn't try to pick their pockets unless a good opportunity showed itself. But, dear gods, he _really_ wanted to try.

They moved quickly, and Issun nearly lost them once or twice as he was trying to be discreet about following them. One of the tattoo guys strode a little ahead of the group while the other two flanked their boss to either side. Fortunately, sunglasses guy was tall enough that he stood out above most of the crowd, so Issun had little trouble keeping track of him.

Only a few minutes after they had started walking, the four suited men slipped into a wide alley so suddenly that Issun almost walked right past it. He stopped himself just in time, and peered around the corner to see his targets entering a door in one of the buildings that lined the alley.

A banner above the door identified the place as a bar. _Great, _he thought, approaching the entrance. For a fleeting second he wondered what the heck he was getting into . . . But for some reason, he had a really strong feeling that this was something he should do. And anyways, he was feeling particularly impulsive at the moment. _Well, here goes nothin'._

Trying to look as tall and casual as possible, he entered the bar. It took a little while for his eyes to adjust to the dim room, with its dark wooden floors and tables and booths. It was a traditional-style bar, so many of the customers sat on cushions on the floor, and the booths were partially surrounded by floor-to-ceiling partitions.

For a moment Issun stood frozen in the doorway as his mind quickly tried to work out what to do next. It would be weird for someone who looked as young as him to just take a table by himself! Then a sign toward the back of the room caught his eye like a beacon, and he made a beeline for the men's restroom, pulling the sliding door closed with a small sigh of relief.

_Okay Issun, calm down_, he told himself sternly, alone in the single-person restroom. He was just going to try to spy on these guys a little bit, if it turned out to be a lost cause he could walk out and leave as easily as he had come in. No big deal.

Slowly he turned back around to face the door and began to ease it open, just a crack, barely enough for him to see through with one eye. He scanned what he could see of the main room, a few groups of suited men lounging at various booths, no women in sight. Suddenly a sharp peal of laughter drew his attention to a table only a few yards away from the restroom. For some reason, the lighting at that table seemed even dimmer than elsewhere in the bar. With a jolt he realized that the sunglasses guy was seated there, along with one of the tattoo guys and another young man Issun didn't recognize.

"Heh heh," sunglasses guy chuckled dryly, though he seemed anything but amused. "I had thought your master was a man of his word, but it seems he grows too lazy these days for his own dirty work." The sound of his voice was low and dark and almost expressionless, giving Issun a really creepy vibe.

The younger man bristled slightly at the comment. "Lord Yami has not broken his word. He will come himself to make the transaction . . . _if_ it is what you say it is. My master does not waste his time on fools who try to deceive him."

The older man's eyes were completely hidden behind his black lenses, yet Issun sensed something dangerous in that invisible gaze. The tattoo guy appeared to tense next to him. "I would watch who you call a fool, boy," the dark voice said softly. The words hung in the air for a moment while the young man absorbed the implications of his own speech.

Finally, he bowed his head a fraction. "No disrespect intended, sir," he said, a slight waver in his voice. "But I understand that you are called the Snake for a reason."

The other man's expression did not change for a few deliberate moments longer, before he finally broke out into another humorless chuckle. "Very well, then," he conceded in a voice about as friendly as an exorcised demon. "Prudence is not unwise, when used _properly_."

He reached down and picked up the mysterious bundle, and carefully began to undo the wrappings. Issun watched with wide eyes as first a hilt, then a shining katana blade was unveiled. When he saw the whole sword, his breath hitched. It was the most beautiful piece of craftsmanship he had ever seen. The blade seemed to gather in the ambient light from around the table, giving it a soft glow while the rest of the booth darkened. A brush-shaped tassel hung from the end of the hilt, almost like a paintbrush.

_I've got to have that sword_.

Issun blinked, startled. Where had that thought come from? There was no _way_ he would be able to get the katana. What in the gods' names was he going to do with a weapon like that anyway?

But that sword . . . The more he stared at it, the less it seemed like a weapon to him. It was a work of art. A tool of light . . . held by a master of darkness.

_Geez, melodramatic much?_ But it was true. That sword – a piece of art like that did not belong in the hands of someone called the Snake. The light reflected in the katana's blade seemed to become brighter as he watched, almost as if it were calling out to him to rescue it from its current masters.

Issun felt his excitement building.

". . . never thought I'd see the real Denkomaru," the young man was saying in a reverent tone. "Not that I doubted you, sir!" he backtracked as the other man frowned. "It's . . . a beautiful blade, sir. My master will be pleased."

"I do not need an insignificant imp like you to tell me that," the Snake rasped. His tone had not changed, but Issun could hear the anger in his voice. "The price has already been decided. Since your master did not see fit to attend this little rendezvous, let him come to me at a time and place of my choosing if he still wishes to make the purchase. I will send word when it is convenient."

With that, the Snake and his henchman rose from the table and walked out of the bar, not looking back. The young man huffed, clearly upset at having been dismissed without any say, but he soon left the table as well.

Issun felt a spike of adrenaline and he prepared to rush out the door, anxious not to lose sight of Denkomaru. He slid open the restroom door and stepped out quickly – and the next thing he knew, two sets of hands were gripping his upper arms painfully, halting him in his tracks. He glanced to both sides and discovered that the Snake's other two tattooed henchmen were not waiting somewhere outside the bar as he had thought, but had apparently been standing to either side of the restroom door.

Confusion hit him first. "Hey! What gives– Ow!" He cut off as the hands tightened their grip, more than enough to bruise.

Frantically he glanced around the bar, and found that everyone appeared to be studiously ignoring his plight, like nothing unusual was happening. One of the servers caught his eye, and the man actually smiled – a thin, unpleasant smile that promised no help would come.

"Let's go, boy," one of the henchmen growled, and Issun was jerked forward at a swift pace. He barely struggled – it was hard enough trying to keep his feet moving forward to keep up with his arms. They exited the bar and the next thing Issun knew he was standing at the end of the alley, face to face with the Snake.

Well . . . they weren't exactly face to face, to be fair. The crime boss towered several feet over Issun's head. The boy swallowed heavily as he craned his neck back to look up at his captor.

"Caught a rat hiding in the restroom," said one of the henchmen.

"Takamori needs to scour his facilities better. Vermin are crawling everywhere these days, it seems." The Snake sounded detached, even bored. Still, the grip on Issun's arms was not lessened, and he felt the need to try and defuse the situation before it got any more out of hand.

"Um, excuse me, mister, I don't know what's goin' on here, but your pals are kinda cutting off my circulation and if you could just let me go I'd really appreciate it and, uh, the folks are waitin' for me at home so I should really get started back now–"

"Foolish boy, don't try to play games with me," the Snake hissed. The sudden flash of anger caught Issun off guard. "You have been following us for several blocks now and attempted to spy on my business transactions. I do not tolerate such impertinence from anyone. You are fortunate that I do not believe you are working for another syndicate, or you would already be dead. But my rivals surely are more intelligent than to send an untrained boy as clumsy as you to spy on me."

"_Hey!_ I am _not_ clumsy, you sleazy pompous bastard – oh, shit." Issun would have slapped a hand over his mouth if he could. All he could manage was to throw on his best apologetic face and stammer out, "Uh, I didn't mean that! Really!"

Like his reptilian namesake, the crime boss revealed absolutely nothing in his cold expression. But Issun imagined that behind those expensive black lenses, a pair of slitted eyes gleamed with suppressed fury.

Without another word to the boy, the Snake brushed past him and headed back toward the alley's entrance, pausing only to snap his fingers at his followers. "Bring him," he ordered. "If he talks, he dies."

Once again Issun was being dragged at an uncomfortable pace by the two stronger men. They crowded him just enough to somewhat conceal their grip on his arms, trying their best to appear like nothing was out of the ordinary. They really needn't have bothered, Issun thought as they turned onto the busier street: people were so focused on heading home or running errands that no one spared their odd little group even a casual glance. _City people_, he thought bitterly. He considered calling for help, but he had a feeling these guys could shut him up faster than he could get someone's attention – or at least by that point, it might be too late.

He just wasn't strong enough to free himself by force, so he tried to focus on memorizing their route. He had been to this area before, so it wasn't too difficult, and his anxious mind began to wander. If he got out of this somehow, he wondered if he would ever show his face in Tokyo again – probably not, he thought with some regret. The pickings had been so easy. Oh well, maybe he would hit Kyōto next . . .

They rounded a corner, and Issun saw a group of high school girls walking toward them, laughing and chatting to each other and generally not paying attention to anything else. Something clicked in Issun's mind, and all thoughts of Kyōto and other distractions vanished. As if in slow motion, a sequence of events began to play out in his head and without giving himself time to think about it, he acted on impulse.

At exactly the right moment, when the girls were just a couple meters or so away, Issun hooked his leg around one of the tattoo guys' shins and yanked as hard as he could, sending the large man toppling forward. The man instinctively tried to catch himself using his hold on Issun's left arm, which of course only dragged the teen forward as well, and the other henchman's grip loosened in surprise.

Meanwhile, the falling man barreled head-first into the group of girls, who were by then too close to avoid the collision. To Issun's absolute delight, the man actually face-planted into a girl's chest, letting go of Issun as he flailed with both hands to catch his balance.

The girl stumbled back, shrieked, and slapped the man hard in the face as he finally dropped to the sidewalk and caught himself on his hands and knees.

Within seconds, the tattoo guys were being swarmed by a horde of angry teenage girls shouting at the creeps for "harassment." Although he couldn't help grinning in amusement, Issun wasn't about to miss his chance to make a break for it.

Just before he started to run, he saw the Snake turning around to see what all the commotion was about. Again, impulse took over. Issun dashed straight toward the crime boss, and in the instant of the man's utter confusion while he took in the chaotic scene, Issun grabbed the cloth bundle right out of the man's arms and kept running.

He ran faster than he ever had in his life, and he didn't look back.

For six long and arduous months, he ran.

* * *

-PRESENT DAY-

Issun, conscious of their stares, took a long gulp of tea. It had cooled to room temperature a while ago.

"That's quite a story you've got there, son," the monk said at last. Like Ammy and Issun, he sat on a cushion in the floor of an otherwise empty room near the back of the temple.

Issun suppressed a groan. Now came the part where the old do-gooder would lecture him about "responsibility" and "doing the right thing," not to mention the incredibly stupid choices he had made in following the Snake. Worse, the monk would probably try to _help_ him, even try to send him back to his old home – Issun paled at the thought. Too late he wondered why he'd agreed to tell the stupid story in the first place.

What had he been thinking? He had never even met this guy before, and suddenly he found himself spilling the beans on a personal story he'd tried so hard to keep a secret for nearly seven months? In front of not one, but _two_ people? _What the hell, Issun?_ he chided himself angrily. The monk barely even had to prompt Issun to tell his story: once he got started, it was like falling down a steep mountainside – he found it impossible to stop.

And maybe, just maybe, that had not been entirely the strange monk's fault . . . An uncomfortable emotion curled through his stomach, which he forcefully pushed away. No. Something was definitely up with that guy. That had to be it.

So Issun sat back and waited for the inevitable. He didn't wait long.

"Denkomaru . . ." Komuso muttered. "I've heard that name. A beautiful blade. It was famous among the faithful, once . . ." His tone was solemn. He regarded Issun with a steady gaze. "You still have it, then?"

Issun said nothing. That sword had to be a priceless treasure, but he'd be damned if he was going to give it up so easily! The teen felt a deep attachment to it that he didn't fully understand – perhaps the effect of having his life turned upside down as a result of claiming it. It was irrational, but what part of his life wasn't at this point? Still, he understood why the monk would think he ought to turn it over, and his thoughts turned to how he was going to wriggle his way out of this mess.

But to his complete shock, Komuso made no such demand.

"Good," he nodded, obviously taking Issun's silence as assent. "Truly, a tool like that does not belong with souls of ill intention. Keep it safe, lad. A good sword in the right hands is more than a cutting edge – it becomes a piece of the soul that wields it."

Issun stared, his mouth drifting open. Did this old guy – this preachy, follow-the-right-path, goody-two-shoes _monk_ – just tell him to keep the sword? That he _stole?_ From a _crime boss?_

Life could not get any stranger for the teen than at that moment.

Seeing that Issun would not be giving a coherent response anytime soon, the monk slowly pulled himself to his feet. A smile tugged at his mouth. "Well my friends, it is getting late, and we all have much to think about I believe. Issun, you are welcome to stay the night if you wish. Ammy can show you to a room."

Komuso walked to the door, but paused when he reached it. "Issun . . . thank you for sharing your story. Following one's true path is not always an easy thing to do. If you are true to yourself, you will come through the challenges you face. But I sense there is a turmoil in your spirit that lies deeper than your fear of those who may pursue you. I suggest you consider exactly what it is you are really hiding from: them, or yourself."

With those typically vague, cryptic, and unhelpful words, the monk disappeared through the door. His footsteps had receded into silence long before Issun recovered.

* * *

"That's it," he said out loud. "That's really it." Alone in the room he had been given, Issun's astonished voice echoed a little off the walls.

He couldn't believe it. He really couldn't. He had told the guy there might be dangerous criminals following him, and the monk hardly blinked an eye. Didn't try to confiscate the sword or find out where his real home had been to send him back. Didn't even suggest he tell the police! What was wrong with the man? Issun wondered if he should be feeling a little angry, or give the guy a prize for not trying to run his life.

One thing was sure – eccentricities aside, he was probably the most awesome old guy Issun had ever met. Calm, easygoing, and not demanding. Someone who actually treated Issun with respect even when he hadn't done anything explicit to earn it. Issun didn't think he'd ever been shown that kind of respect before from an adult. They usually took one look at him and wrote him off as a punk or an annoyance – that, and he kind of tended to reinforce the reputation every time he opened his mouth.

The teen blew a troubled sigh. Why did it matter so much to him? It didn't change anything. His . . . grandfather wasn't going to change. If that dinosaur were capable of giving him such a basic level of respect, he surely would have done so by now.

It wasn't exactly true that his grandfather didn't care, Issun knew. But that was exactly the problem: he only cared about Issun's _achievements_. And those were never good enough. No matter how well his grandson did, the old man never seemed to be satisfied. If he cared at all what Issun felt about always being pushed too far, he had a lousy way of showing it. As in, he didn't show it at all.

And Issun had decided long ago that he didn't need his grandfather's approval, or help. He _knew_ he had talent as an artist, and he figured he was capable enough by then to make it on his own. Someday, Issun would prove himself to the world, and the old man would have to recognize his talent. But Issun would be far beyond caring at that point, he told himself. It didn't matter.

Then why – gods, _why_ did it still feel like it mattered so much what the old fool thought?

A soft knock sounded from his door. When he didn't reply, it cracked open just a bit and a head full of white hair poked around it.

"A-Ammy?" he mumbled, caught off guard. He had thought she'd already gone to bed.

She pushed the door open and stepped in. The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight that shone through a single window, but Issun's eyes were fully adjusted to it. He watched her come across the room and kneel lightly next to where he still sat on his sleeping mat. With the moonlight shining across her already pale skin and hair, she looked downright ghostly, and with those red markings on her face . . . for a fraction of a second he wondered if he were being visited by a spirit.

But Ammy was all too real, Issun knew as his brain registered the very close proximity of the girl. "H-hey there," he stammered nervously. _Smooth, Issun, real smooth_. "What's up?" Trying to sound casual.

Dark eyes rose to meet his, and he was a bit surprised to find that they didn't sparkle with the same exuberant energy that they held during the day. Instead, the night shadows made them appear deeper, darker, more mysterious. It was like staring into the midnight sky. It went on and on forever . . .

"You were lonely."

For a moment Issun thought he had imagined the words, even agreeing a little in his mind. He gave a start, pulled out of his musings when he realized they had actually been spoken out loud, in a soft yet clear voice that was most definitely not his own.

"You – you spoke!"

For the first time, Issun realized that he had never actually heard the girl speak before. But that couldn't be right – they were friends! How could that have happened if she never – okay, well, he figured he did enough talking for several people, so maybe that was why he hadn't really noticed.

But – she actually spoke!

Chimes of laughter broke the night's stillness. "Guess so, dork," she said, shooting him an easy grin. He tried to smile back, but it felt a little strained and he was afraid it came off as creepy.

"Haha, yeah, sorry, I guess that was a little obvious, huh. Haha. Sorry. It's just, well, I'm pretty sure I've never heard ya speak before, ya know? . . . Hey, why is that, anyways? Not much of a talker, or somethin'?" he wondered out loud.

"Hm, you could say that," she said, still with a smile. "Most people . . . it's like they don't really hear what I'm saying." Her eyes came back up to his, thoughtful.

"Heh, yeah, I can definitely understand that." He'd had more than his share of not being listened to. It didn't stop him from talking, of course, but it _was_ frustrating. More than he cared to admit. "So you just don't bother talkin' to 'em."

Then another thought occurred to him, although he didn't say it out loud. _But you're talking to me_. He felt a more genuine smile spread across his face.

She didn't respond, so they sat in silence for a little while, until Issun was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable again. But suddenly he remembered what had started their little conversation to begin with, and he blinked in confusion.

"Hey – whaddaya mean, I'm 'lonely?'" he huffed. "I mean, maybe I'm feelin' a little more antisocial than usual after hangin' out with that blond freak all afternoon, but that's different. I ain't _lonely_."

She leveled a narrow gaze at him, until he looked down. "Just confused," he muttered, mostly to himself.

Ammy tilted her head. "Really? Why?" she asked, now sounding plainly curious.

"Why? I ran away from home, I'm on the run for stealin' a sword, my only family hates me, I don't even know what I'm doin' here right now, and you have to ask _why? _Seriously, is everyone in this town off their rocker or what? . . . Hey, they don't put anything weird in the water supply, do they? . . . What's so funny?" he demanded. Ammy was shaking with silent laughter.

She ignored his question, and Issun decided she was in fact just as crazy as the rest of the village in her own way.

"Geez, a guy can't even mope without gettin' laughed at." He shook his head, frustrated. "It's that stupid sword's fault, anyways. If it weren't for that, I'd still be doin' just fine on my own, goin' at my own pace, livin' the good life on the road. That creepy, slimy control-freak . . ." he trailed off, thinking angrily of how his life had turned upside down after Tokyo. Not that it had been exactly stellar before then, he amended to himself. Happiness was hard to come by when . . . when you truly were alone.

"Hey."

A quiet voice cut through his musings. He glanced up at Ammy. "Yeah?"

"Don't worry so much, kid." She sounded matter-of-fact, but her smile was more gentle this time.

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked a little more glumly than he meant to. "Life kinda sucks right now, ya know."

"Why not?" she answered as if it were obvious. "If you think about it too hard, you'll just go crazy like the rest of us. Worrying won't change the fact that your life sucks."

"Well aren't you just a bundle of joy," he snorted.

"It's true," she rolled her eyes. "Besides, it doesn't seem like your style to worry so much. You made it this far on your own, didn't you? Komuso knows what he's talking about, by the way, even if nobody else does. Trust yourself. Find what you believe in. Follow where your path takes you, and deal with the consequences when they come."

He blinked, processing her words.

"Yeah . . . I mean, I _do_ trust myself," he said slowly. "I think. No, really. I'm good at what I do, and I know I'm gonna be the best artist this country's ever seen before I'm finished. You'll all see. And _nothin's_ gonna stop me, especially not some stupid snake guy who needs a throat lozenge. It's just . . . I dunno . . . It would be kinda nice if somebody else believed in me too, for once."

It sounded so bitter and lame, he knew, and part of him wished he weren't having this conversation with Ammy. But the words just seemed to keep pouring out of him tonight, and to his surprise, it actually felt good, in a way. He had never really talked about these things before with anyone else.

"Issun . . ." Ammy began, and he met her gaze. "I don't really know what made you leave your home, although I can sort of guess. But you should know . . . being a great artist is a big goal, but it's not the most important thing in life, even for you. What good is art . . . if you don't have anyone else to care about? It's one thing if you're just making art for yourself – but if you truly want the world to recognize you as the _best_, your art has to reach out to them, it has to speak to them, show them why it matters – and well, it can't do that if you have nothing to say." He dropped his eyes. "Find what's important to you, Issun – is it getting approval from everyone you meet? Is that really what you need most right now?"

He didn't answer, but her words played over and over in his mind. He was afraid that she was right: he would never _really_ be the best as long as his only real purpose was to – to show up his grandfather, and anyone else that didn't acknowledge his skill. _Is that – could that be why her artwork is so . . . alive? Because it has a purpose, and she believes in it? . . . Could it really be that simple?_

"Or is what you need most . . . a friend?"

Before Issun really knew what was happening, she had leaned in close, and he felt her lips brush across his. By the time he could react, she was already drawing back, and he sensed somehow that she was about to leave.

His heartbeat sped up to a frantic drumroll.

"Wait."

_What the hell am I doing?_ But he immediately told the panicked little voice in his head to shut up. All those things that Ammy and Komuso had been telling him – they were starting to make sense. It wasn't so different from his own philosophy, after all – he'd just needed a good reminder.

_I think I get it now_.

He caught her hand just as she was starting to rise, pulled her back across to him. She didn't protest, and that was all he needed. His head tilted, and his lips met hers as if he'd been waiting for this moment all his life.

And _wow_ – apparently he had.

She returned the kiss fully, to his elation. A light show was exploding through his head. The taste of her lips, the warm, soft curve of her mouth, the sensations she awoke were like a brightly painted spectrum of colors in his mind – so full of life and energy he could hardly contain it. Gods, he'd never felt more alive!

All too soon it was over, they broke apart as the need to replenish oxygen made itself known. And they were both wearing dazed grins, Issun realized – and in Ammy's case, it was not the familiar, wolfish grin he had come to see so often.

No, this expression was downright _girly_ – he didn't know how else to describe it. She looked giddy.

He felt pretty giddy himself, if a little shell-shocked from what he had just done.

She climbed to her feet, and this time he didn't stop her, although just before she half-floated out the door – _Ha! She_ really _wasn't expecting that!_ – he called out one last time.

"Leap before you think, huh?"

She whirled around at that, and he winked at her. Then her smile grew, lighting up the dark room, and she nodded once before finally disappearing through the door, closing it behind her.

Issun leaned back, turning to look at the white half-moon still visible out the window.

He'd thought earlier that very evening that his life couldn't get any stranger. But the universe just loved proving him wrong.

And for the moment, he was okay with that.

* * *

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**A/N: **Sorry about the wait, guys. Even so, I wanted to edit this chapter a bit more and wasn't planning on posting it today - but I found out this evening that a fairly big typhoon is headed roughly in our direction, due to reach us late tomorrow or the next day, and there's a decent chance I'll lose electricity and/or internet when that happens, for who knows how long - and it's been _so_ long since the last update, I just wanted to get it up by this weekend. So what's been going on since that last update? Eh, the usual - graduated college, worked 2.5 summer jobs, moved to Japan - kinda chaotic, really.

Anyway, I _will_ reply to signed-in reviews this time when possible - just know that thanks to "Typhoon Is Coming!" I may not be able to for a few days... :)


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